The Mentalist fic. Red John/Jane NC-17 (1/6)

[grenegome]

 
Title: Aftermath (1/6)
Rating: NC-17 (Deals with non-con)
Warnings: Non-con, slight violence, swearing. If you have any questions about the nature of the fic before deciding to read it, I'm happy to answer them.
Pairing: Red John/Jane, team gen.
Notes: This is a sequel to the Red John/Jane fic I posted at the Mentalist kink meme here. That fic also deals with non-con. This will make more sense if you read that first. Also, if anyone has suggestions for a decent title, hit me. I suck at titles.
Summary: After Red John's holiday is over, Jane and his team pick up the pieces. 

 

Patrick wakes aching. It has been a very long time since he had a hangover, and briefly he wishes for the kind of life where too much alcohol consumption might be the most traumatic thing he has to contend with of a morning. Instead, he scrambles out of the bedcovers that Red John had carefully tucked him into, and retrieves the promised piece of paper from his bedside table.

 

Samantha Tyler. Hopefully, she will never know what has been done for her. He needs his cellphone, but doesn’t know where John put it. He wonders when he started to abbreviate Red John’s title into a name. Maybe that’s appropriate when a man has…No. He needs his phone.

 

He steps out of bed and his limbs betray him. He drops to the floor. He feels like he’s been beaten, but he hasn’t, not badly. His phone. Is probably still in the living room.

 

It is easier to crawl than try and make sense of his limbs, which are usually so obedient.

 

His phone is on the coffee table. Even in his anger John had taken the time to place it exactly parallel to the notes on the table. He likes things neat. Orderly.

 

Phone. Lisbon.

 

It rings a lot. He slumps backwards onto the floor and lies there, staring at the ceiling, humming the ringing sounds back into the receiver.

 

She answers. He knew she would.

 

“Jane. You do realise it’s 7 o’clock on a Sunday morning? Not everyone in the world has insomnia.”

 

“Red John.” He says. His words seem clumsy, and he has to concentrate to get them out. He reads the address from the paper slowly. Pre-printed. No clues there.

 

“Jane. Are you hurt?”

 

“There’s a girl there. Alive. Samantha Tyler. Can you collect her please?”

 

“I’m getting hold of dispatch on the landline. Jane, where are you?”

 

“Living room floor. Don’t worry. Not hurt.”

 

“I’m coming to get you.”

 

She hangs up.

 

He thinks maybe he should move. He doesn’t. He stares at the ceiling again. Lisbon is coming.

 

Perhaps he falls asleep once more, because then there is hammering at the door. He tries to sit up, but it doesn’t work properly. He realises belatedly that he may still be drugged.

 

The door crashes open. Lisbon has kicked it in, all by herself, all for him. He beams at her. She has her gun out. He wishes she were here last night.

 

“Jane. Are you alone?”

 

“Yes. He left. I think. I didn’t see him leave.”

 

She crashes through the rest of his house, kicking through doorways and pointing her gun, before she reappears again.

 

“Clear.” She tells him, grimly. “It was Red John?”

 

“Clear.” He smiles. “Yes.”

 

“You’re still alive.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Is he?”

 

“Unfortunately.”

 

She kneels down next to him.

 

“I like your pyjamas.”

 

He looks down. He is wearing the sky blue set that his wife picked out for him, in another lifetime. Because they matched his eyes. Her favourites. John must have liked them too, to pick them out and dress him in them whilst he lay unconscious.

 

“I’m going to be sick.” He announced, after a moment’s consideration.

 

Lisbon vanishes and reappears with his waste paper basket. She rubs his back whilst he wretches, a little hesitantly, as if the gesture is unfamiliar.

 

“I’m taking you to hospital.”

 

“Uhh. You need a forensics team, for here, for me. He was here a long time. And a rape kit. Is that a hospital thing, or a forensics thing?”

 

Her grip on him tightens as he says that. He looks up in time to see her close her eyes. When she opens them again, he smiles into the face of unholy fury. His smile broadens. He is sure Red John didn’t mean to gift him this. 

 

 

The medical people speak softly to him, telegraphing their movements very clearly every time they need to touch him. His head is clear now, and this is all very boring, but if there is any chance they can pluck a trace of Red John from his body, he will cooperate. Eventually, they finish and leave. 

 

He is alone in the hospital room. He will discharge himself, charm a lift to the CBI, and find out if Red John had made any mistakes.

 

But then his team pile into the room.

 

He stares at them as they stare at him.

 

Van Pelt breaks first. She strides across the room, grabs him around the shoulders, and hugs him, hard. The unsolicited physical contact is unusual, but it makes a refreshing change from the medics. She isn’t worried about hurting him. He eases her out of the hug to confirm that yes, her eyes are red, but she doesn’t drop his gaze.

 

“Good morning Grace.”

 

“Good morning Jane.”

 

Rigsby shuffles up behind her, and Jane notes the reassuring hand he drops on her shoulder. He offers Jane the cardboard cup he is clutching to his chest like a security blanket.

 

“Hey man. Tea.”

 

“Mmm. Lovely, thank you Rigsby.”

 

He raises an eyebrow at Cho.

 

“Clothes,” he says, calmly. “I picked up your spare set from the office. Had to break into your locker.”

 

Jane’s smile is genuine. “That’s my man, Cho. Devious.”

 

He looks to Lisbon, who is by the door, standing silent watch over them all.

 

“Hey. Shall we go and investigate?”

 

“Jane.” She says, and doesn’t gentle her voice for him, because she knows he won’t appreciate it. “It’s still Bosco’s case.”

 

That raises a chorus of protests, the most vocal of which is Jane’s.

 

“We can head back to the CBI, if you like, but we won’t officially be working on this.”

 

Officially. He can work with that.

 

 

 

His team have, without speaking, decided that he must be in the centre of their group on the walk through the hospital, the car park, and the halls of the CBI. They envelop him in their quiet competence, watching him and their surroundings calmly. He is not under the impression that Red John is about to leap on him from behind a water cooler, but he finds it comforting despite himself.

 

They are so tightly grouped that Bosco almost doesn’t spot him when he steps out of the interview room with little Samantha Tyler in tow. But he does.

 

“Jane.” He says, blankly.

 

Everybody stops, and his team draw up around him, as if ready for a fight. Jane wants to laugh.

 

“Patrick Jane?” A quiet voice asks, and he steps forward to see Samantha Tyler looking up at him.

 

“Yes. I’m pleased to see you well.”

 

“Thanks. Did he hurt you? That guy?”

 

He likes the sincerity that she radiates, and the ferocity he remembers seeing screamed on the laptop screen.

 

“Not badly.” He realises that there’s one more thing he can do for her, and drops a hand to her shoulder, words coming slow and steady. “Samantha. Listen to me carefully. You are perfectly safe. That man isn’t going to hurt you again. Let go of your fear. He won’t notice you. He won’t care. You are as safe as can be, Samantha, perfectly safe.”

 

He expected an interruption. Usually there are objections to this kind of activity in the CBI, never mind in the middle of a busy hallway with a traumatised minor. But his observers stand silently as the girl relaxes under the palm of his hand, exhaling deeply.

 

He lets go, and watches her eyes focus on him.

 

“But you aren’t safe, are you Mister Jane?”

 

“No. But I have a lot of CBI agents looking after me.”

 

“Oh. Ok. And…thanks. For keeping him away.”

 

“You’re welcome.” He manages.

 

“Mom!” The girl breaks away from them, evidently having spotted her family.

 

Bosco is left facing them alone.

 

“Jane. I need to take your statement.”

 

Lisbon frowns. “Can’t this wait until he’s had time to rest, Sam?”

 

“I’m sure he’d rather get it out of the way.” 

 

Jane cycles through the possibilities and then nods.

 

“Of course. I’m all yours.”

 

It is strange, being interviewed. His eyes flick past Bosco, who is frantically trying not to signal his discomfort but is failing miserably with his white knuckled grip on his biro. Jane thinks he can see the pen bending. He focuses on the one-way window instead, and wonders who is stood there. Lisbon, of course. Probably Minelli, and maybe the CBI shrink, whoever that is now.

 

“Jane.”

 

“Bosco.”

 

“Can you tell me what happened?”

 

“Can you let me in on the Red John case?”

 

“Jane. That isn’t funny. I need your statement.”

 

“I assure you, I’m not laughing.” He leans his elbows on the table, so that his bandaged wrists show. He hadn’t noticed the cuffs cutting into them at the time. Bosco’s eyes flicker down and away.

 

“What time did he enter your home?”

 

Jane watches him silently. Bosco’s reaction to opposition is predictable, and he can likely make use of that now.

 

“I’m sure I’d be able to focus a lot better if I had the case notes to remind me of him.”

 

“This isn’t the kind of thing you forget, Jane.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m not an agent, remember, Sam? Sometimes I forget the mundane details.” He’s pitched it right. The correct degree of arrogance and personal animosity. 

 

Abruptly, Bosco rockets out of his seat, jabbing his finger towards Jane. 

 

“Enough! Quit your head games-” 

 

Jane’s response is sheer artistry. He cringes back in his seat, making it look as if he’s trying to be as small and as far away from Bosco as possible. He pitches his voice quietly, but clear enough to be heard in the observation room. “Don’t hurt me. Please don’t.”

 

He hears the observation room door crash open, and feet in the corridor. Bosco has frozen in horror, towering over him.

 

Jane smiles up at him. “Your life could be much simpler Sam, if you just give me what I want.”

 

And then Lisbon is in the room.

 

“Step the hell away from him. Now!”

 

“Teresa, he was faking. You know what he’s like.”

 

And then Minelli too. Jackpot.

 

“Faking? Agent, since when was yelling and threatening a witness appropriate in this kind of interview? Any kind of interview?”

 

“Sir-”

 

“I don’t want to hear it. My office. Lisbon, take Jane’s statement.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

The two men leave, and Lisbon sits.

 

“Ok. Let’s start at the beginning.”

Next Part

 

 

Comments

[yumi-wuves-yaoi.livejournal.com]

I really love this. In both stories your characterisation is perfect. This is amazing. I'm reading it for the second time in 24 hours.
I have suggestions for the title of the first one if you still don't have one. You could call it "The Holiday", or just "Holiday", or something cheesy like "Red John's Holiday". So it sounds cheesy and light but it's not.
I would love to see more of this. But thank you for writing a sequel there are so many things that I just love in this story!

[grenegome.livejournal.com]

Thanks for commenting! Coincidentally I think I've mentally fallen into referring to it as some variation of "Holiday" after it got tagged that way on Delicious :-D Glad you liked it.